


Fall in Mutual Weirdness

by mahoni



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Canon Related, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahoni/pseuds/mahoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob has discovered a home truth about Frank Iero: love Frank, love his weird food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall in Mutual Weirdness

_Chicago_   
"Food is an important part of a balanced diet." ~Fran Lebowitz

 

"Who needs this many different kinds of grains?" Bob said. "Or rice? Seriously."

He stuck the phone between his ear and his shoulder to free up the hand not holding the shopping basket, and snagged a box off the shelf.

"And how the hell is this even pronounced? Kwin....noa?"

Frank snickered. He was over in the tofu aisle. Bob refused to go to the tofu aisle with him. Uncooked tofu grossed him out.

"It's pronounced 'keen-wah,' dumbass," Frank said.

"That is not how it's spelled, dumbass."

Bob dropped the box into the basket. He'd been scanning the boxes looking for something that was spelled like 'keen-wah' sounded for the last five minutes and having absolutely no luck. He would have had Frank spell it for him if he'd known he would need more than Hooked on Phonics to find the damn stuff.

Or hey, he could have sent Frank vegetarian-shopping alone in the first place. That would have worked, too. Frank was learning his way around Chicago, there was a small chance he wouldn't have gotten completely lost.

Possibly a microscopic chance, but still.

Bob shuffled a foot to the left and grabbed a bag of wild rice, trying not to look too closely at it when he tossed it into the basket on top of the quinoa.

"Why does so much vegetarian food look so nasty?" he said. "Wild rice looks like rat shit. Tofu looks like bleached fungus. Cooked polenta looks like diarrhea. Veggie burgers look like vomit patties --"

"Gross, _gross_." Bob heard that from the other end of the store as well as over the phone. "Shut up, that's fucking disgusting."

"I know, _exactly_. That's my whole point. And yet you eat this crap."

"Oh don't even," Frank said. "You love my tofu lentil lasagna."

"I wouldn't love it if you'd told me what was in it before I ate it," Bob said. "You tricked me into liking it."

"Whiner. You like it because it's tasty. Hey, meet me in the junk food aisle."

Bob looked up to where signs would be hanging from the ceiling over all of the aisles, with helpful labels, if they had been in Wal-Mart. Dinky whole foods stores apparently did not want people to know where to find shit, though, because there were no signs.

"Where is that?"

"Uh..." Frank said. He rustled faintly as he walked. "Oh, one aisle over from you."

A few seconds later a hand attached to a short section of tattooed arm shot up over the aisle divider to Bob's left and waved.

"I see you." Bob headed for the end of the aisle. "What else do we have to get?"

"This is it. Bag of chips and we're good to go."

"Thank god," Bob muttered. "Because I'm starving. We're stopping by Steak 'n Shake on the way home, dude. After being surrounded by rabbit food for the last hour I need a fucking burger."

Frank's groan got cut off when Bob switched his phone off. Not that hanging up on Frank was going to stop him from letting Bob know exactly what he thought of that plan.

"Filthy carnivore," Frank yelled from the other aisle. "You disgust me."

"That's not what you said last night," Bob yelled back.

Frank's laugh carried just as well as his voice.

*

_Jersey_   
"If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe." ~Carl Sagan

 

"You're wasting good chocolate," Bob said.

He didn't mean to sound desperate, but fuck. That was the Ghirardelli cocoa powder his mom had sent. Bob didn't cook all that much (or, okay, ever) but his mom had always made hot chocolate from scratch, using real cocoa, which had ruined him for instant hot chocolate. He loved his homemade hot chocolate, and he possibly had an unhealthy attachment to the gourmet cocoa powder that he used to make it.

Gourmet cocoa powder that Frank had dumped into a bowl with _soymilk_. And _vegan butter substitute_. There should be a fucking law against shit like that.

"Keep your fucking shirt on, Bryar," Frank said. "These are going to be the best brownies you ever had, trust me."

He had the mixing bowl propped on his hip, tilted so he could stir the batter vigorously with a wooden spoon. They had an electric hand mixer, but Bob had hidden it after the second time Frank lifted the damn thing out of the bowl too fast and coated the entire kitchen with cookie dough. He still made a mess using a spoon, but at least the messes were more localized.

"No good brownies were ever made with fake milk and fake butter," Bob said.

Whacking the spoon on the side of the bowl to shake the excess batter off -- and flinging a bit up onto the ceiling in the process -- Frank gave Bob a patient look.

"Do you really think I would steal your precious special cocoa powder for shit brownies? Have some faith, man. And --"

He paused to lick a broad stripe through the batter on the spoon. If Bob hadn't been so upset about Frank using his cocoa powder he'd've probably appreciated the tongue action and blissed-out, semi-orgasmic expression.

"Mmmm." Frank did a ridiculous lip-smacking thing and held out the spoon. "Tasty. Seriously, try some. I promise you'll like it."

Bob took the spoon, staring dubiously at it while Frank poured the batter into a pan. "And if I don't like it, what do I get?"

"Uh," Frank said distractedly.

He was scraping the batter out of the bowl with his finger. The main reason Bob hung out in the kitchen when Frank was cooking was to make sure he washed his hands before he did shit like that.

Well, that, and also because watching Frank cook was kind of hot. Bob wouldn't admit it, but he was pretty sure the first time he saw Frank flambé a crepe suzette was the moment Bob realized he was in love. The sight of Frank casually wielding a flaming frying pan somehow had gone so far beyond terrifying that it had come out the other side as unbelievably sexy. Bob figured he had to either be insane or in love for that to happen.

"Well," Frank said. "How about you get a blowjob in the shower later?"

"I was probably going to get that anyway," Bob pointed out. Shower time when they had a bathroom all to themselves was awesome.

"Point." Frank shoved the pan into the oven and set the timer. "How about you get to give _me_ a blowjob in the shower?"

"Again, already a good chance of that." Bob raised an eyebrow, holding the chocolately spoon pointedly away from himself. "What else you got?"

Flipping Bob off, Frank said, "Oh, just try it, you big wuss."

Sighing deeply, Bob grimaced and swiped a glob of batter off the spoon with his finger and gave it a tiny lick.

Then licked the rest off just to verify his initial reaction.

"Motherfucker," he muttered. "That's really good."

Frank cracked up.

"I told you," he said. Then he tried to take the spoon from Bob.

"Hell no," Bob said, holding the spoon over his head where Frank couldn't reach it. "You wanted me to like it, I like it, and now I get to lick the spoon."

"Jerk. You're supposed to share."

Frank got a hand on Bob's shoulder to brace himself when he jumped, swatting at Bob's arm. Bob twisted away and stuck the spoon in his mouth, making obnoxious slurpy noises as he sucked the batter off. When he held the spoon up again, it was nearly clean of batter.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "Did you want some of this?"

"Yeah, I did, dickface." Frank snaked his hand up and around the back of Bob's neck. "Lucky for me you missed some."

He didn't go for the spoon; instead he pulled Bob down and swiped his tongue across Bob's mouth. As soon as Bob parted his lips Frank latched gently onto the lower lip and sucked.

Leaning back against the counter, Bob tossed the spoon in the general direction of the sink and slid his hands down Frank's sides to rest on his hips. When he spread his legs a little Frank settled in between them, kissing the chocolate from Bob's lips while Bob licked into his mouth and nipped at his lips every chance he got. Hands found the hems of shirts and eased under; fingertips skimmed the hot skin just beneath waistbands. It was all slow and lazy, and they were still doing that when the timer went off twenty minutes later.

Yeah. Bob loved hanging out in the kitchen while Frank cooked.

*

_New York_   
"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." ~Unknown

 

"You had a birthday breakfast. There was bacon and sausage from pigs, and pancakes made with cow milk."

Frank tried not to look grumpy when he said it, but failed hard. In the light from the storefronts Bob could see his scowl.

"And then my mom made you lasagna with actual beef and cheese in it. And _then_ Ray and Christa barbequed _more_ dead animals at their Bob-Is-Old-slash-New-Year's-Eve Party. And, _and_ \--" His hands were shoved deep in his pockets against the cold air; without pulling them out he lurched sideways just enough to elbow Bob hard in the side and make him stagger. "And it's not even your fucking birthday anymore. It's January fucking third."

"Yes, which marks the end of my birthday week," Bob said.

Frank made a face, but didn't object. He knew better. If he objected to Bob having a birthday week, then he wouldn't get his own birthday week.

"And therefore," Bob continued. "We are going to this restaurant I want to go to. Because it's still my birthday week which means that I get to pick the restaurant."

"Yeah, just wait until tomorrow," Frank muttered. "I'm gonna start us on a _tofu_ week. Tofu eggs, and tofu sour cream on your baked potatoes, and tofu..."

He trailed off as the restaurant sign came into view. For a few moments they walked in silence; Frank didn't say anything until they got close to the restaurant and Bob started to slow down.

"Dude, are you serious?" Frank said. "Are we really going here for your birthday dinner?"

Bob shrugged. "You keep making stuff from that one cookbook of theirs and it's usually pretty good. I figured since we were just across the river...ish."

"It took us almost five hours to get here," Frank said. "You were that into it, I figured it had to be some famous, manly red meat joint."

They stopped to glance at the menu posted behind glass by the door. Moosewood Restaurant apparently did themes on Sundays; the theme that day was West African food. Bob couldn't pronounce half the names of the dishes. And there seemed to be a lot of peanuts involved in the descriptions.

Either way it was all vegetarian.

And it wasn't as if Bob was actually going vegetarian. Just, living in close proximity with Frank Iero for five years and dating him for two of those had made it a bit difficult for Bob to avoid the fact that a lot of that meatless shit was pretty fucking good. So for the end of his birthday week he had decided to give himself a trip to an awesome restaurant that happened to be vegetarian.

If it also happened to be a restaurant Frank had wanted to go to forever but had never got around to it, well. Coincidence.

Frank's hand slipped into his. His grin was wide and a little wicked.

"You are gonna be really glad you got us that hotel room here in town for the night."

Bob stifled a grin back and let Frank lead him into the restaurant.

*

End

*

**Note:** I have no idea what is going on in this picture -- if Frank is actually flambé-ing something or if the picture was snapped two seconds before Frank accidentally burned the kitchen down, or what. But, you know, *handwave*. Just imagine Bob sitting in the kitchen watching, going o_o and also realizing he's totally stupid in love. (Click to see full size.)

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/mahoni/pic/0006hzy8)


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